Domino Effect
by Bobbie23
Summary: A domino effect or chain reaction is the cumulative effect produced when one event sets off a chain of similar events. General spoilers for season eight.


**Warning – post-coitus Porter but don't let that deter you if you enjoy EO angst.**

 **Disclaimer – I don't own, just borrowing.**

Domino Effect

" _We try so hard to hide everything we're really feeling from those who probably need to know our true feelings the most. People try to bottle up their emotions, as if it's somehow wrong to have natural reactions to life."_ _Colleen Hoover_ _,_ _Maybe Someday_

You lie in your bed listening to the gentle snores emanating from the man slumbering next to you. You bite back a snicker as he snorts in his sleep. He drifted off soon after your mutual climax. As satisfying as it was you can't help regretting the decision you made hours ago. You didn't like him much when you first met. He didn't appreciate babysitting you during the undercover operation in Oregon and you thought he was an arrogant prick who played into the stereotype of the FBI to climb the ladder. You weren't really bothered, you were a cop, you dealt with arrogant pricks every day. It was clear he didn't have much experience with victims, but he exceeded your expectations when he heeded to your experience when you were talking to Brittany. Recently you came to rely on him when your recently discovered brother screwed up your life and after today probably your career too. You don't what will happen in the coming days; you need to await the Brass's decision. In some ways you're glad of the suspension, you definitely need a break from the squad. You're pretty sure the rest of the unit need a break too. Darius definitely succeeded in his plan to destroy your lives, ramifications will be harsh and no one will escape unscathed.

No matter what happens, you still think it was better to confess before IAB came looking for you. Porter was waiting for you when you finished giving your statement this afternoon and then gave his own. This was such a bad idea. He was a friend even though he made it clear he was attracted to you and was interested in more. You doubted he wanted a commitment and it would be a very casual arrangement. He's handsome and can be charming when he needs to be and he obviously did what he did to impress you but you don't need another complication.

You pull the top sheet up over your body and fold your arms over it securely as you draw your knees to your chest. The sheet drags over his body, exposing the smooth skin of his back. He is sprawled on his front; his arms disappear under your other pillow. Your comforter drapes over his ass, resting on the dip of his hip. He sure does make himself comfortable easily.

You resist the urge to bury your head in your hands and try to figure how to tell him you just want to be friends, that it's not him, it's you. You're sure he'll be fine with whatever explanation you give him, you're certain you aren't his first one-night stand. He isn't your first. You don't have the heart to tell him it could've been anyone in your bed tonight if he hadn't been there. It could've been the guy you used to work with in computer crimes, the one Elliot stares down every time you see him in the hall, the one who keeps asking you out since you came back from Oregon. It had been a long time since you spent the night with anyone, long before Oregon. If Kathy hadn't been pregnant, it would've been…You push a hand through your hair, scratching your scalp as you sigh heavily. How the hell did everything get so messed up?

You twist out of bed, taking the sheet with you. You spare a quick glance at the alarm clock. Ten to one in the morning. Porter doesn't even stir as you tiptoe to the adjoining bathroom and pull your toothbrush from the cup on the thin shelf above the sink. You brush your teeth thoroughly. You're too anxious to lie in bed and the normal, simple action allows you to regain some control over your spiralling thoughts.

It would be easy to blame others, it's an impulse everyone has till they accept responsibility for their own actions. Darius may have found evidence against all of you but it was your own fault and you'd have to deal with the consequences. You haven't spoken to anyone, only got a text from Casey telling you the verdict which you never replied to. You were already sat your sofa beside Porter, four empty bottles of beer and a bottle of whisky sat on your coffee table as you read the message out loud. You downed another shot and began to seduce the agent.

The toothbrush clatters as you throw it into the cup. You turn the faucet off then face the naked man in your bed. He's shifted onto his side away from you. Still snoring. You find it disconcerting he's this relaxed in your apartment. Part of you wants him to wake so you can kick him out, but you feel guilty for even thinking it. It's not his fault you messed up. It's not his fault you had to answer to IAB. It's not his fault Elliot announced he was going home to his ex-wife because she's pregnant.

As much as you don't want to admit Elliot's confession had anything to do with sleeping with Porter, it did. It sounds petty and you'll only admit this to yourself but you reacted. You aren't angry at Elliot for sleeping with Kathy, you have no right to be. You're angry at him because he seems so dumbfounded that Kathy's pregnant. They maybe Catholic, but they could've used protection. Your dalliance with Porter wasn't revenge, you would have to tell Elliot for it to be revenge and you have no intention of doing that. At least you resisted the urge to head straight for the airport. The last year has been shit. And when you finally thought you were getting something resembling a new balance to your life it's blown apart by a single sentence. Okay, not a single sentence. That's a little dramatic but his timing sucked. You understand he was shocked himself and he blurted it out because he needed to say it. Later you might be able to appreciate that he was trying to open up to you, not yet though. You're still reeling.

Porter snorts and rolls onto his back, exposing his muscular chest. The comforter slips a little lower, threatening to reveal more than you want to see. He's attractive and has a great body, athletic, muscular without being overly defined. If your life wasn't messed up, you would consider…you don't know what you would consider.

You need a shower. The bedroom reeks of sex. The only thing stopping you is the risk of the sound of running water waking him and think it's an invitation to join you. You need him to leave. You need to digest everything that's happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Taking a small step forward, you look between the bed and the clothes strewn over the floor. With another step you reach the doorway and you lean around it to open the top drawer and grab the top pair of underwear. Stepping back into the bathroom you awkwardly pull them up your legs while trying not to lose the sheet wrapped around you. It's ludicrous, you know, he's already seen you naked, but you need the small amount of cover the sheet gives you. Glancing around you spy the jeans and tank top you were wearing earlier. There's no way to accomplish getting dressed without dropping the sheet so you snatch them quickly and push the door closed but don't click it in to place. You drop the sheet and pull the top over your head. It's barely settled when you shimmy into your jeans, the phone in your pocket digs into your thigh as you fasten the button and slide the zip shut. You do a quick check of the phone out of habit and find three messages. You delete the one from an old college friend who's in town for the weekend and type a quick reply to the one Casey sent hours ago. Then you open Elliot's. He caught a case with Munch and he's in the city. He wants to talk.

It's something you never expected from him. You want to hear what he's got to say but you doubt it will give either of you any peace. He probably thinks you're ignoring him because it was sent half an hour after Casey's. You were probably straddling Porter on the sofa as you worked on the button of his shirt. You don't want to see Elliot; he knows how to see through you, he'll know you slept with Porter. You don't want to think the word complicated, let alone say it. You came a long way since then, well, you thought you had. After the Sennett case you promised yourself you would persevere because Elliot is your partner, your friend, you care about him. Even when things are tense you have a rhythm you don't have with anyone else. You can't avoid him forever.

You stare at the phone in your hand. One beat, two, passes. Your back rests against the cold tile wall next to the door, relying on the small amount of light coming from the tiny window and the eliminated screen to see. Your thumb hovers over the keypad; you could pretend you were sleeping and never heard it till morning. Elliot wouldn't buy it, he knows you would be obsessing over the trial, over IAB, rather than sleeping. Instead of pressing reply, you hit connect and lift it to your ear.

"Hi," he answers before the first ring finishes. Your eyes slid shut, he had been waiting by the phone.

"Hey," you whisper breathily into the receiver. You place your hand on the door as if that will muffle any noise you're making.

"Why are you whispering?"

"It's the middle of the night," you answer. Elliot huffs in reply. You don't give him the chance to question it though. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Uh, yeah," he pauses and you try to discern anything in the background to figure out where he is. It's quiet and it gives you some hope he's already back in Queens and won't bother driving back over the bridge to Manhattan at one o'clock in the morning. You're not naïve enough to think a phone call will suffice, life isn't that kind. "I'm just finishing some paperwork and I can be at yours in ten."

You can't say no so you mumble an affirmative before hanging up. You pocket the phone and pull the door open quietly, peaking around it to check Porter is still asleep. He is. You pad quietly into the room to grab your boots and continue into the living room. You sit on the sofa and slip them over your bare feet, zipping them shut and fold the hem of your jeans over the top. Standing you drag the jumper you dumped on the back of the sofa hours ago over your head. With a few quick strides you snatch your keys from the kitchen counter before you leave the apartment, closing the door as quietly as you can behind you, hoping Porter sleeps through your absence.

You forego the elevator, it's loud and rickety. The stairs are slower but you still manage to reach the lobby as Elliot is parking his car across the street. At least he wasn't waiting for you or able to press your buzzer. You push through the door and meet him at the bottom of your stoop.

"That was quick," you say as he stares between you and the building, obviously wondering why you met him outside. You wouldn't do anything differently if Porter wasn't in your apartment, not now.

"I was on my way out anyway," Elliot says focusing on you. "How'd it go this afternoon?"

"I'm suspended at the moment, just hope I have a job at the end of it," you shrug. You're not convinced it will be but now's not the time. "What about Kathleen?"

"She was arrested and bailed," he replies simply, he won't elaborate further. He sighs and fidgets. He's nervous. You drop deftly to sit on the second to last step, leaving plenty of room for him to do the same. Seconds later he does without looking at you. "I messed up."

"I thought you wanted to sort things out with Kathy," you probe.

"I signed the papers, I was ready to let it all go," he admits. "Sometimes you think you want something so bad, and then when it happens you realise you don't."

You really don't want to hear this. "If you don't want to-"

"Kathy needs the support," Elliot cuts you off abruptly. A moment later he flashes you an apologetic glance before quietly adding, "Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"

"It doesn't matter what I think Elliot," you stress out. You want nothing to do with this decision.

"I want to know Liv," he pleads.

The quiet hitch at the back of his throat is your undoing. You sigh wearily, wishing you never checked your messages, wishing you were sound asleep next to Porter. It would be easier to deal with an awkward morning after with him than it is dealing with whatever is going on between you and Elliot. It doesn't mean as much.

"You don't have to go back to Kathy to do the right thing by this child, Elliot."

"She can't do this alone," he replies. "I need to make this work."

You know it's useless to argue with him on this, he thinks all kids need to have both parents under one roof. While the idyllic life is something he thinks everyone deserves, it's not for everyone, certainly doesn't work out for everyone but he will do everything he can to provide that for his children.

"Apart from the pregnancy has anything changed between you and Kathy? Have you even talked?"

"Not really," Elliot admits.

"When?" You ask the question before have a chance to think about whether you want to hear the answer, you could be more specific.

"I went to see the kids after the Royce case," he says sombrely. "They were asleep, Kathy and I...I didn't tell her but she knew and asked me to stay."

"You could've come to me," you offer.

"I didn't need to talk," Elliot says gently so you know it's not a jibe at you. You understand the need all too well, especially tonight.

"You could've come to me," you repeat softly. You feel like a bitch for saying it but it's the truth.

"I didn't mean to for this to happen." He's not referring to the baby. He never meant to have feelings for you, it just happened. It took you by surprise too. It was like a smack to the back of the head when you figured it out. Then you tried to run from it, only to figure out you didn't want to.

"If this isn't what you want," you say, offering him an out without judging him. Of course he would judge himself if he never went home.

"What we want and what we do are different things." He looks sad, his eyes glisten and you feel your own begin to water. "Things are going to change again, aren't they?"

"They already have Elliot," you reply quietly. "You're going home."

"I'm going home," he says, testing the words. He says it again with a resolute nod, psyching himself up for the coming days. You doubt they've told the kids yet.

Neither of you talk for a while and you both stare out at the deserted street, wondering why it's so quiet. You want to say something because you're going to miss talking to him in the middle of the night when he moves back to Queens. The air changes when you see him turn to look at you out of the corner of your eye. You breathe in and turn to face him, your eyes lock. It's safer because if he looks at your lips you'll probably hit him. God help him if he chooses to kiss you now. You don't want to associate that with the goodbye this is. Thankfully, Elliot senses the change and scoots away as he stands.

"I better go, let you get some rest," he says turning towards your building, his eyes drifting over it out of habit to check his surroundings. He stops and stares at something.

You watch his expression change and you _know_ what, rather who, he's seen. You swallow uncomfortably and crane your neck to follow his glare. Sure enough, Porter is standing bare chested at your window, looking down at you his disappointment clear. You meet his eyes and tilt your head, imploring him to give you some privacy. He apparently understands your silent pleading and moves away from the window.

You close your eyes as you summon the courage to look at Elliot again. "Elliot," you begin as face forward, your eyes opening.

He holds up a hand. "There are times when we don't need to talk," he reminds you softly. You wish you didn't feel guilty about this. You wish you didn't know Elliot was here because he felt guilty for sleeping with Kathy. "But did it need to be him?"

"He's a good guy, Elliot."

"That's why I'm asking," he counters and looks up at your window again. "What did he do that I didn't?" He wonders out loud.

"He made it clear he wants me," you say simply. You hate that it makes you sound needy and you don't add that Porter is probably more invested in this tryst than you. That's not the point. Elliot doesn't want the clarification.

"I thought we…" he doesn't finish the sentence.

"Yeah, so did I," you say softly.

 **Okay, let rip.**


End file.
